


Baptized in Blood

by Venira



Category: Far Cry (Video Games), Far Cry 5
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Apple of Eden, Apples, Blood and Violence, Brothers, Childhood, Childhood Friends, Childhood Memories, Cult, Dysfunctional Family, Dysfunctional Relationships, Eden's Gate, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eventual Romance, F/M, Growing Up, Growing Up Together, Hope County, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Romance, SAY YES, Seed family - Freeform, Seven Deadly Sins, Sins, Sins of Youth, Sins of the Father, Violence, yes - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-20
Updated: 2018-10-15
Packaged: 2019-06-29 23:24:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 5,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15739428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Venira/pseuds/Venira
Summary: So first off, the characters, save for you of course, as well as the overall plot and setting, belong to Ubisoft and the other creators of Far Cry 5, which is sort of a "well duh" thing since obviously wee lil nerd me didn't just up and create the franchise, but yeah, probably needs to be said. *Disclaimer* thingie.And while I feel like I've done enough research on the game, PLEASE let me know if I get something wrong with the timeline or how characters act or anything. I'm, like, kind of too poor to have ever gotten the game/even if I did it wouldn't run on what I have, so... yeah I've actually never played Far Cry 5, though I certainly loved 3 and have really loved what I've seen of 5!Anyways, I hope (county) you enjoy my story! Feel free to give me feedback, and I hope to update regularly.(Rated teen+ for violence, language, possible controversy considering religious themes, as well as fairly mature themes)





	1. John 1:6

"There was a man sent from God whose name was John."

So the gospels say.

They speak of the life, and trials of this god-sent man, known better to most as John, the Baptist. A man of magical cleansing power, persuasion, and focus.

I know a man, similar to this disciple of God.

His name, too, is John.


	2. Wolf and Shepherd

"Jooooohn! _Jooooohnny!_ " You yelled out to him, grabbing at a bush and shaking it to rustle. "I'm over here!"

"...Where?" He asked, a bewildered tone to his young voice.

Containing a giggle, you jogged a couple feet over to a nearby tree, careful not to tip down the plastic blue bucket hanging off one of the branches as you climbed, bare feet soft against the hard and sappy bark.

Hearing him pad over through the grass, you adjusted yourself on a branch quietly and looked down, noticing him only a little bit away.

"I... don't see you," John stated, glancing here and there, eyes concerned under his bruised brow. He told you that he got the bruise when he fell down a hill during a hunting trip, so you didn't feel bad for what was about to come next.

_Splash!_

Ripped neon green rubber now hung limply off of his head of black hair, soon after slipping off to the ground given all the water now drenching him. ...Though not enough to conceal his furious pout.

" _Hey!_ What the H-E-double hockey sticks, Liza?!" You giggled at his censorship of such a wimpy swear, but understood it was much of how he was raised, and that you were simply all the more blasphemous for not caring that you said it.

"You have been baptized, John!" Your childish voice declared in a false deep tone. "Now you are a true child of God!"

John began running forward, and you shifted your weight on the branch, subconsciously understanding that it was too late. He forcefully pulled down the bucket, causing the branch to snap, falling to the forest floor and you with it. A couple of the balloons in your arms had popped, making you soaked as you sat slumped and disheveled at the bottom of the tree, butt on a root and twigs in your hair. Hell, even a pinecone was stuck to your shirt.

"I absolve thee!" You shouted playfully, grabbing those colored balloons which were on the ground and still in tact and continuing to throw them his way, though a couple of times he ended up catching them and pelting them towards you, causing you to pick up the bucket and use it as a shield.

In the end, both of you were wet with water and sweat, covered in dirt and broken balloons, sitting on the ground across from each other, and even laughing. You got him to lighten up! However, the gravity of things then came back to John, pulling his face into whatever kind of grimace a 10 year old would be able to muster.

Pushing himself to stand as he began brushing himself off, he bitterly remarked, "Father will be very upset about me dirtying my church clothes," gesturing towards the unkempt state he was now. "Does Aaron have anything that would fit me? Can you help me out?" He then asked with more of a soft, pleading tone. Aaron was your cousin, who lived maybe two roads back.

After a moment of contemplation, you replied, "Yes." And then something happened behind his eyes, but you couldn't tell what. "I think he'd have something," you continued. "But I also know that-"

You were cut off by the slam of a car door, and the fading hum of ignition going to silence. John's eyes widened in what must have been fear, which concerned you enough that you reflected his expression.

"It must be my father!" John whisper-shouted, shoulders hunched in discretion.

"Stay here," you instructed, before leaving the woods back into the yard of your house, just yards away.

"M-Mr. Duncan," you addressed, ringing out your skirt in a way that you hoped wasn't too suspicious. "J-Johnny's just on the loo, he'll be right ou-"

"No, I'm here," cut in John to your surprise, traipsing through the brush and out onto the lawn beside you, before walking over to his dad with a defeated look.

You couldn't help but be confused at his decision, your eyebrows knotting as you watched his abashed face. You had hoped that given the excuse you offered, he would have had enough time to run over for a change of clothes, or at least clean himself up a bit more.

Instead, there he was, a _Daddy's boy_ , gingerly standing across from you and avoiding your eyes. You couldn't wrap your head around it if you tried.

"You'd do best not to lie, girl," growled his father with a spit and a scowl. "It's a _sin_. I'm not letting you put your sins on my boy."

Turning to John, he insipidly asked, "Are you ready to come home, John?" "Yes," he replied blankly. "Are you good?" "Yes." "Are you ready to atone?" "Y-Yes." "What was that?" "Yes," he said sharply, though more quietly. "Then come along, son."

His large hand roughly closed around John's arm, and Mr. Duncan began leading him away to the car. You could see John's head turn, just enough so that you thought he'd spare you a glance back, but he never did. He flinched back to face forward, and was led away, as a lamb is by a shepherd.

Only this was a wolf, in shepherds clothing. Leading him to the slavering pack.


	3. Dinner

Some use the saying, "a wolf at the door." However, no one ever explained to you that you might end up letting the wolf through the door for dinner, sometimes.

"I just, it's a little bit sad..." you remarked, fork idly twirling a bit of lamb that clutched to the end of it, other hand propping your head up as your elbow very rudely took purchase on the table. "I mean, if we just wait for it to become a sheep, won't that mean even more meat? And wool? Why would you kill it as a baby?"

"It's better this way," commented John from farther down the table on the other side, with some strange and wild look in his eyes, pausing from his remorseless consumption, unlike you, who had stopped entirely. "My mother says, sometimes," he continued, "that everyone has someone out for them. This lamb... Well, maybe it was bleating too much. Maybe, maybe it was kicking others, or not compliant. And maybe, maybe lamb just tastes better than sheep."

Shaking your teenage head, ripe with hormonally-brought concerns, you laid your fork on your plate, and scooted the porcelain away with both hands. "I don't think I can get behind that idea."

"So what, you won't eat?"

"Not today. I don't think so." The thought just seemed so much more bitter after the discussion. You wished you hadn't thought about it so much.

"Well, then you'll be all the weaker for it," John replied matter-of-factly, scooting his chair over so he could scratch food off of your plate and onto his, then scooting back and continuing with dinner. "You'll be a weak lamb without food, without... consideration for yourself before other creatures. One day, you'll be too weak to run from wolves. And-" he stabbed a large chunk of lamb with a knife, holding the meat up, "they'll kill you."

"They'll rip the flesh from weak muscles and drink the marrow from your spindly bones, until your wool and their maws are red with your blood. And you aren't Lazarus. God won't bring you back from that."

You couldn't help it, but his descriptions had your hands shaking. Even if you wanted to keep eating, you wouldn't be able to hold a fork now.

"Sooo," he drawled on casually, "instead, when people offer you lamb... What _should_ you say, Liza?"

"I should say yes," you whispered, looking away and at the table before you.

"Hey, look at me," John commanded harshly, though not particularly with an angered tone. You brought your eyes up to meet his, and saw something like confusion there. Then, after quickly steeling yourself, you stood up and leaned over the table, grabbing the last shank of lamb from his plate and taking it, sitting back down as you began to chew the meat down to the bone.

A strangely silent moment filled the room, as he watched and listened to you eat with almost wolf-like recklessness as you tore at the cooked flesh.

"...Does it taste good?" He asked, breaking the quiet.

After a mouthful, you replied, "Yes." You didn't even lie. It tasted fine.

John nodded and sighed tiredly, leaning back in his chair. "Have less pride, Liza..." he asked you sadly. "Have less pride..."


	4. Brothers

"'When the angel who spoke to him had departed, he called two of his servants and a devout soldier from among those who attended him, and having related everything to them, he sent them to Joppa. The next day, as they were on their journey and approaching the city, Peter went up on the housetop about the sixth hour to-'"

"Hold on a moment," said Jacob, waving his hand for pause. Joseph, irritated that his brief sermon was being interrupted, adjusted his glasses and closed his bible with his thumb keeping place. "Yes, brother Jacob?" he asked a bit pointedly.

"It said, a soldier attending him?"

Joseph's expression softened, glad that Jacob was actually offering a biblical question, rather than just asking for another sandwich from the cooler beside them. Currently all the brothers, and you included, were lounging in the back of a pickup truck, headed through the roads of the county and towards church. Faith was up in the passenger seat, chatting with her friend who was driving.

Nodding, Joseph replied, "Yes, a soldier, Jacob. You see-" he paused when a pothole caused a harsh dip, everyone scrambling for hold on the sides, a momentary distraction. "Even soldiers make time for the Lord," he continued. "Those soldiers, however, who put God first and make time for the fighting, well, those are the men of God's army."

"...Right," Jacob responded, leaning back with his elbows against the rim of the truck. "Go on, then."

Joseph cleared his throat and continued with the sermon, and John, beside you, found that as a good moment to whisper his thoughts.

"'Pay attention, O Job, listen to me; be silent, and I will speak,'" John quoted with a smirk. Only you could really tell it was a jab at how you were spacing out the sermon and not paying attention at all, your eyes roaming the woods, excitement bubbling within them.

It was the first day of Blue Orchard's apple-picking season, and it was only a few minutes walk from church. So you planned on picking some fruits after the lessons, to bring some home for yourself and family, and to the brothers too. Those boys could use it, even though at this point they were just young adults, college-age, and could certainly pick for themselves. You just wanted to show that you valued their friendship, especially since day-by-day it felt like it was waning.

"I'm just excited, is all," you brushed John off quietly, still watching the world as the truck rumbled and rolled through dusty roads. You heard a honk up front, and afterwards Faith and her friend Elle could be heard laughing at something.

Joseph's voice cut in, louder with emphasis. "And there came a voice to him: 'Rise, Peter; kill and eat.' But Peter said, 'By no means, Lord; for I have never eaten anything that is-" Joseph's voice faded back out as John pursued his topic, determined, but now on a different thought.

"If you listened to Joseph more, you might be more willing to consider the project," he grumbled, sighing and crossing his arms as he leaned back. "I'll help train you," he went on. "We'll take the entire orchard together, and I'll give you... all the apples in the world."

The Project at Eden's Gate had only sprung up recently, at Joseph's command, but it already left bad feelings on the inside. It wasn't too difficult to hear the violence at the neighbors house, when they'd refuse to accommodate the religion of the Seeds', or the crackling fire of a barn gone to ash, after a riot happened nearby past the gas station. It scared you, but you weren't sure how to say "no." So you were in limbo, and they waited to accept you.

They waited _impatiently_ , sure, but they waited, their arms open wide. And that was some of the most anyone's ever done for you.

* * *

The stable was still, but palpable with the question that hung unanswered. John's eyes watched your face curiously, as he sat on a wooden bench across from you.

"I need an answer, Liza," he said. "Are you going to join us? Your brothers and sisters? Your friends, and family? In accomplishing something larger than us all?"

...After a brief moment of quiet, as you inwardly prepared yourself for the fear, you softly replied, "No, John." You lifted your eyes from the solid apple in your hand, and met his own blue eyes to show your resolve. "I don't have a place there."

"I'll make a place for you."

"John..."

"We'll do so much. Think of how thi-"

"-They killed my cousins..." you broke in with a raised voice, eyes now smoldering with hate, though not a hate meant for John. "Aaron. Michael. Little Jemima," your voice choked out. "My aunt Helen. That's what I think of now, w-when I think of Eden's Gate..."

"They were heretics," explained John callously. 

"They didn't _deserve_ that!"

"We don't mean to hurt you, Liza," he tried to assure cautiously, waving a hand to brush off the judgement. "...But they were already gone before you thought they left. They chose their fate long ago, by refusing God's hand..."

Sighing and pushing himself up to standing, John began to pace and nod around the stall, attempting to approach your answer with more temperance and less ferocity, eyes downcast in focus. "In the book of Job," he continued slowly, "it said, 'For you must choose, and not I; therefore declare what you know.' What your aunt and cousins declared, it was... Only _heresy_. And refusal of the Lord. Refusal of Eden."

"Jemima was s- _seven_ , John, you can't just _ask_ those sorts of questions to children, I j-just," you then began blinking quickly, preventing any tears from spilling down and distracting from the conversation, though your voice was already breaking and betraying a deep sadness. Understandably, the topic was difficult.

"I, I _can't_ join, John," you pressed him again as you shook your head, looking up into his handsome face with something on your own, something you hoped would let him leave you be. "And I... I wish you never did."

You stumbled to continue before any misinterpretation occurred. "I mean...! I-I'm not upset with you, I get you need to follow your brothers, but, I just, I thought, I thought maybe when you were older, you'd abandon your _messed_ ideologies!" You stood up too, hoping it would give you the confidence you needed to go on in rebellion. 

"As much as you think it, I'm not a _lamb_ to be eaten by wolves or 'atheists' or what have you, or a lamb to be shepherded by men with sharp canes like those in the project. I'm... I'm not a lamb at _all_..."

A long silence stretched on, John's arms crossed again as he looked out and away, his jaw slightly clenched. Something roiled in his eyes, something you felt like you've seen in him before.

And then he turned to you, and brushed a wisp of hair behind your ear before gently grasping your wrists in his hands, turning your body towards him as he began to speak again. "It's so easy to say..." he whispered, looking into your face with surprising softness. "It... just comes to the tongue, so quickly..."

"...What does, John?" you asked with equal calm in your voice.

"... ** _'Yes'_**..."

Your eyes had drifted down to where he held you, and when his grip tightened you looked up swiftly, meeting his eyes, and once again finding something wild there.

" _John_..."

"My brothers won't wait," he explained quickly, stumbling over his words with a tone of reckless fear and worry, as his fingers began to tremble around their hold on your skin. "You know they won't. We wait for no one. Th- _they_ wait for no one," he tried to correct. "It has to be now. You have to join us now, Liza. There's no more _time_ for indecision, damn it!"

He shifted his hands to your shoulders, shaking you. "Let me save you. Let me _save_ you, Liza. Let the Lord save you." His hands then stopped and just rested there, as his expression pleaded with you for acceptance.

Clearing your throat, you finally let a couple tears release, their shine dim within the room. It would be hard to get your words out... this was all so hard... but... you had to let him know how it all felt to you, and sometimes it felt the brothers only spoke in verse and Word. Almost like it was their native tongue, rather than English.

"'O God, s-save me by your name...'" you began to quote, with a quavering voice, "'and vindicate me by your might. O-o God,'" you stuttered, "'hear my prayer; give ear to the words of my mouth.'"

Meeting his eyes sharply, you went on with more resolve, "'For strangers have risen against me; ruthless men seek my life; they do not set God before themselves.'"

Upon hearing your near-blasphemous accusation, John abruptly brought his calloused hands to your throat, where they barely squeezed, too hesitant, held back by something yet again from within himself.

"You're twisting the _Word_ ," he hissed, his hands shaking as if they had an energy to twist your neck in the same way. 

"Your pride will be your _death_ , your answer your _tomb_ and the outcome your _grave!_ " his voice boomed with an unkempt yet dismayed rage. 

"You will die a _sinner_ , and your Gate will be one of _fire_."

John's hands relaxed, and slowly removed themselves, the only slight sound apart from his ragged breathing. He gently tucked your hair behind your ear again.

"...But I'll still find a way."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Just thought I'd put a quick song here, Blood // Water by "grandson" :https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NUO9F4eUO_A
> 
> I just really love the relevance of the lyrics, which I've included below if you'd like to see what I mean, with the main parts I like in bold. :^)
> 
>    
>  **We'll never get free,**  
>  **Lamb to the slaughter.**  
>  **What you gonna do?**  
>  **When there's blood in the water.**  
>  **The price of your greed,**  
>  **Is your son and your daughter.**  
>  **What you gonna do?**  
>  **When there's blood in the water.**
> 
> Look me in my eyes,  
> Tell me everything's not fine.  
> Oh the people ain't happy,  
> And the river has run dry.  
>  **You thought you could go free,**  
>  **But the system is done for.**  
>  **If you listen real' closely,**  
>  **There's a knock at your front door.**
> 
> We'll never get free,  
> Lamb to the slaughter.  
> What you gonna do?  
> When there's blood in the water.  
> The price of your greed,  
> Is your son and your daughter.  
> What you gonna do?  
> When there's blood in the water.  
> When there's blood in the-  
> When there's blood in the-
> 
> Beg me for mercy,  
> Admit you were toxic.  
> You poisoned me just for,  
> Another dollar in your pocket.  
>  **Now I am the violence,**  
>  **I am the sickness.**  
>  **Won't accept your silence,**  
>  **Beg me for forgiveness.**
> 
> We'll never get free,  
> Lamb to the slaughter.  
> What you gonna do?  
> When there's blood in the water.  
> The price of your greed,  
> Is your son and your daughter.  
> What you gonna do?  
> When there's blood in the water.  
> When there's blood in the water.  
> When there's blood in the-
> 
> I am the people.  
> I am the storm.  
> I am the riot.  
> I am the swarm.  
>  **When the last tree's fallen,**  
>  **The animal can't hide.**  
>  Money won't solve it.  
> What's your alibi?  
> What's your alibi?  
> What's your alibi?
> 
> What you gonna do when there's blood in the blood in the water?  
> When there's blood in the water.  
> When there's blood in the-  
> When there's blood in the water.
> 
> Also, I hope you enjoyed the chapter! :^) My update schedule will probably be wonky what with school coming up soon, but thanks so much for reading and sticking around!


	5. John 1:8

"He himself was not the light; he came only as a witness to the light."

I considered this, a bit after John left to study law at Eastern Coast University. That's exactly what it was. He was studying law, but he himself was not the law, and couldn't be.

Joseph had once told me something about the Bible being law, so surely he had taught John the same, so John must have thought that his "power through the lord" and "the power of yes" let him surpass being a simple lawyer, as the Bible was his lawbook. It's pretty convoluted, but I can't help seeing all these poor influences as being the reasons for his delusional and violent behavior.

Call me a therapist, but something's wrong with John.


	6. A Different Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Hey, just a quick thing, but in the beginning you'll be singing a song, so here's a link if you'd like to hear kind of how it goes!: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jyK4IQWKNYE  
> And here's another version also with a female artist, that you might prefer!: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uczG1_o7m1Y  
>  _And_ , I'm thinking that you, Liza, learned it from hearing it on the radio, though a more calm version more like this one.: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PINlSa0ToGo
> 
> Sorry if that's just too much boring elaboration on my song choice, but I just thought I'd put it out there for those that care! Anyways, I really hope you enjoy the chapter! Feel free to let me know what you think in the comments at any time, I'd love to hear what you have to say.)

A light and weightless kind of day.

You hummed and sang to yourself, embracing the privacy of the middle of an open orchard.

"And I wake up in the morning,  
with my hair down in my eyes, and he says 'hi.'  
Then I stumble to the breakfast table,  
and get the children off to school, goodbye."

You picked up a bucket from where it was tilted on top of a broken root, and shifted the handle over into your elbow. You used your stance and balance to measure which pale was heavier, as another pale of apples held to your other elbow. Deciding the left one was lighter, you set it down before you and the other bucket behind you, then reaching deep into the branches for more Granny Smiths.

"Then he reaches out, and takes my hand, and he squeezes it,  
and says, 'how you doin' hon.'  
Then I look across the smiling lips,  
that warm my heart and I see, my morning sun."

Knowing John was back from university, it brought you a mix of elation and fear. 

Typically: fear. Fear that him or his brothers would find you working at Blue Orchard and do something terrible. Personally, you found it a smart move. People shouldn't look somewhere so obvious, especially considering the Blue Orchard family consisted of Peggies now, good people who wouldn't harbor any "non-confessors." But, they did. You worked only for food and board, and to them that was enough to get to stay. One girl named Lark was a real' crazy cult loon that constantly threatened to rat you out, but so far everyone had kept her shut up, at least.

And today: elation. Elation considering the fact that a childhood friend might return into your simple yet simply strange life. You held these endless pangs of curiosity, considering if he was a changed man, hopefully for the better. Maybe if he found you, it wouldn't be so bad. Maybe he could recall the fun you had in the early days, and finally have understanding that it could still be had with you, if only he opened his heart to more than his brothers and God and "Yes."

And so, you sang a little song, about a perfectly cute little world where you were John's and John was yours. And it wasn't terribly hard to admit that you liked him by now, you had been friends for so long, despite the current and recent turmoil in your relationship. He had been so kind before, and you knew that there really should be someone out there to remember him that way. So one day you decided that person should be you.

The song was also about apples, which you decided was an extra fitting touch.

"And if that's not loving me, then all I've got to say...  
God didn't make little green apples,  
it don't rain in Indianapolis in the summer time.  
And there's no such thing as Dr. Seuss,  
Disneyland and Mother Goose, there's no nursery rhymes.  
God didn't make little green apples,  
it don't rain in Indianapolis in the summer time.

And when myself is feeling low,  
I think about his face aglow, to ease my mind."

You rubbed your thumb across the surface of a small apple in your hands, a quiet squeal sounding from the waxy surface. It was shiny enough from yesterday's rain to elicit a reflection, but nothing more than a wobbly silhouette of your head against the sky.

Needless to explain, however, you jumped when another silhouette entered the shaded green image.

"Singing about your _man?"_ questioned Lark over your shoulder, with a teasing tone. As you turned to see her lifting your full bucket into her arms, you easily caught the wide impish smile on her face. "You want him to make you 'confess' all through the night?"

"'Oh, John,'" she continued to mock, though now in a faux high voice as she looked imploringly at the bucket she held at face level. "'You make me such a sinner! Absolve me through your love, my Christian prince!'" Giggling, Lark smooched the bucket before hanging it at her elbow, watching your unamused expression from under her hooded eyes.

"I'm taking your bucket, Liza," she then explained simply, before walking away with it.

Though it annoyed and worried you to no end, you weren't sure how you could ever stop her. Essentially she'd often take credit for your work, stealing the apples you'd picked should she have the time to search for you out among the trees. The less apples you brought in every week, the less food and kind treatment you'd receive, sometimes to the point where you were deeply concerned they'd kick you out someday for lackluster labor.

You'd be inclined to tattle, but that seemed like an awkward and dishonorable thing to do, considering it would have to be to one of Lark's relatives. They wouldn't feel comfortable siding with you on the situation. 

And she constantly threatened to turn you in to Eden's Gate should you tattle, so for now, you sighed and held in some angry tears, continuing to work. You didn't feel like singing anymore. God, she was such a _bitch_.

* * *

The start of dinner was always quiet, save for the clinking of silverware against plates and the woody clonks of someone mixing the salad bowl.

"Let's say grace," began Claudia Ives, the head mother figure of the Blue Orchard family. 

Everyone then held hands, Lark's to your left, and her older sister Joana's to your right. They always fought, so you supposed that's why you got put right in the middle of it, as some kind of buffer. Some nights your ears felt like they were bleeding from their insistent arguing. Were Joana and Claudia also as terribly mean as Lark was, you would think your life had become the typical Cinderella story.

"Lark, tonight is your night to say grace," Claudia declared, watching her daughter warily.

Of course it was _Lark's_ night...

"Alright," she replied nonchalantly, closing her eyes as everyone followed her lead and did the same.

"Father," Lark began, "you are mighty and strong to sustain our bodies and our family. Thank You for the meal we are about to enjoy. Forgive us for forgetting how many pray for food to relieve their starvation. Bless and relieve the starvation of those who hunger, Lord, and those who hunger for Your holy and unwithering light. Bless the good men, the Heralds and Angels of the Project at Eden's Gate, as they are those who seek only to accept you into their hearts, Lord!

"Tonight," she continued, in a calmer voice, "please also bless the meal of Jesse Ives, who can't be with us today. And, if you can spare any of Your power for the wretched, please also bless the meal of dear Liza, who sits with us, yet again, tonight. We pray this in Jesus' Name, Amen."

Everyone then said "Amen," though yours was begrudging at this point. The fact that she prayed for your meal essentially masked the insult towards your being, so no one brought it up.

The family started to dig in, while Claudia first took the time to give you the portions deserved for the amount of work you'd done. It was fairly good, a leg of chicken and half a potato, as well as a carrot pulled from the farm. You'd definitely live.

"No one told _me_ John Seed was back," grumbled Derek, Claudia's brother, in his thick southern accent. At morning everyone had discussed it in the kitchen, though apparently no one had noticed Derek was out.

"Quit whining," Claudia said plainly, cutting into some softly-baked vegetables. "You know now."

"I'm just sayin'," he continued, "that it's pretty darn important to know when another Herald's arrived, yeah?"

"I _agree_ , uncle!" added Lark in her most sweet and niece-like voice. "Wouldn't it do well of us to invite the Yes-man to dinner some night?"

Using a napkin to contain the cough that suddenly plagued your throat, Joana cut in, "Lark, you're mad as a headless chicken," she spat. "He'll find Liza in a snap, and carve us all like _Jack-o'-Lanterns, idiot."_

"It would be a kind _gesture_ , Joana, but I'm unsurprised you can't get that through your thick skull," remarked Lark, staring at her plate as she stabbed the potato there with her fork. "It's a way to get off his shit list, anyways... Thanks for putting us there, _Lance_." She glared angrily up at their oldest brother, pointing her butter knife his way.

"Hey, shut the hell up, Lark. You have no fucking idea wh-"

"- _LANGUAGE_ ," Claudia interjected harshly, one hand bunching up the table cloth beneath it, as her eyes pointedly darted between Lark and Lance. They withered under her gaze and returned to eating in silence.

...But yeah. Apparently, Lance's refusal in the beginning had been broadcast through people very loudly, bringing some ire down on the Ives at times. John in particular had struggled to convert Lance, but... Eventually he did, of course. As it went with all people, save those who died in the process.

You couldn't help but shudder at the unlived memories of Lance's shirt being ripped open, buttons popping and lean arms uselessly shielding himself, a cold knife being wrought through his clear torso, bearing endless shame through the words of a sin.

Folding your hands neatly in your lap, you finally quit them from trembling. You knew what you had heard, but John couldn't _possibly_ be so...

"Hey, Liza, are you alright?" whispered Joana, brow creased, eyes coming up from where you were steadying your hands.

"Oh, yes," you whispered nervously, "I, I just... Feel a little uneasy? Suddenly?" You tried to explain the feeling, fumbling with the napkin in your lap. "I-I can't explain it," you clarified, "but, there's, this impending _feeling_... Like-"

A knock at the door.


	7. John 1:12

"Yet to all who did receive him, to those who believed in his name, **he gave the right to become children of God.** "

I didn't get what that could mean, back at my times in church. In the sermons, it wasn't a sentence the pastor would dwell on to explain, going back through other instances in scripture, or giving the details of some strange biblical event, so that everyone would get the message in the words. So that was enough for most people to think, that the sentence wasn't really important at all.

Sometimes—and it's always weird when it happens, but—people might refuse their rights. They might refuse to receive what they can have.

And I never could have guessed that people might force you to take them.


	8. A Cleansing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boop, here's another song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jlTBf6RaAyI
> 
> "Put your hand in mine.  
> We'll run together, we'll be hard to find.
> 
> Something's comin', something's on it's way.
> 
> No there ain't no devil gonna be where we go.  
>  **Gonna wash in the water, and save all our souls.**  
>  Take all the children where the flood water's low.  
> Ain't no devil gonna be where we go.
> 
> The moon is rising, dusk is at our door.  
> With darkened horizons, won't be scared no more.
> 
> Blood in the river, blood in the sky.  
> None but the holy, won't leave you behind.
> 
> The moon is rising.  
> Tomorrow the sun will be born."

Being forced to swallow the truth, you could never have guessed it would be harder to do than drowning. But here you were, swallowing water painfully yet easily, your body pinned and your head literally and metaphorically _swimming_ as it was held below the surface of the bank, tugging air from your body.

Then, a heavy pull to your neck, after what seemed like days underwater. You nearly forgot his hands were there, your mind was occupied only with the water and how it was killing you. Your head broke through the surface again. 

Your eyes were blurry with water from failed attempts to find which way to go, and your ears had been clogged, now dripping loudly against the shore as large bubbles of freshwater released from them to splatter on the stones. You were let go and slumped forward onto your arms, immediately beginning to vomit on the ground, unable to contain everything that had entered your stomach, rapidly breathing and hacking between takes, sputtering as droplets leapt from your nose. Your lungs felt terrible, but your mind was panicked and unsure what to do about it. So you continued to cough without a care who was watching, shuddering in agony.

"Watch them purge their sins," you barely made out someone say. At least it didn't sound like John's voice.

Your eyes were scrunched closed, so you couldn't tell who was lifting you up by the arms, but at the moment your body couldn't care less. It seemed so unimportant. You couldn't remember ever feeling so close to death, you never would have provoked an action so cruel. It was as if you were just shaking hands, making a deal, only to be shoved harshly away and back to reality. Which seemed colder, somehow.

As you began to be dragged somewhere else, your wet clothes catching dirt and holding it tight to your body, you winced and inwardly grunted at your hopeless situation and lasting pain. 

Surely you wouldn't feel this horrible if the first time John pulled your head from the water, you didn't spit directly in his face.

But you couldn't help it at the time. You were filled with, what he would call, "wrath," recently. 

Normally you could contain such extreme emotions, you were considered a calm and kind individual by most, but... he was pulling something dark from the depths of your heart. Things you didn't know were there, and felt had to break out.

And you felt like that was exactly what he wanted, too.

* * *

At some point your waking mind dipped into unconsciousness. Some time later, through a perpetual blur, you caught light spilling into your space, a door open, wood creaking, someone muttering.

You woke and, unsurprisingly, found your body still felt exhausted, if not slightly better given the provoked stress that put you to sleep. And if not that, the blanket you realized was around you at least gave some amount of warmth, though admittedly your clothes were still damp and heavy, your lungs and throat sore, your eyes irritated.

And it didn't take long to feel the restricting pain of your tied wrists. Shifting in discomfort, you bumped shoulders and realized there were more people on the floor alongside you. Through the small light from the ajar doorway, you could slightly make out some forms. Some were slouched and sleeping, everyone similarly tied, and some were staring at each other or into space, amazed others could sleep in such a situation. No one wanted to be there.

Noticing you squirm back into consciousness, someone to your left nudged you lightly with their elbow, so you turned slowly to face them. "What?" you croaked weakly. 

"I saw John drop you in here," he whispered. It was too hard given the lighting and your tiredness to discern the stranger's features, but his voice sounded adolescent. Poor kid. "You were dripping wet when you got here, so I'm assuming you got cleansed... But you see, I already was a week ago. Cleansed, I mean. Do you know what's going to happen next? I-I'm really worried," he confided quickly with a quaver.

"I was looking for my sister, yesterday. I don't know where they took her... And they caught me snooping. And now I'm here. Are we all in for something? I feel like it's that way. Have you done something wrong too?" he rambled, in a hushed tone.

"John 1:26," you heard from a corner, and saw a jittery man muttering to himself. "J-John... 1:26. 1:26. One. Twenty six. One... Twenty six..." He had a paranoid and anguished expression, and was fidgeting with his hands. He was near where the light spilled in, so you could make out where blood had his clothes gripping him, open wounds underneath and seeping. Blood from a gash and sweat from fatigue mingled on his forehead and ran in a stream of pink shine down his head and neck, into the collar of a ripped shirt. He was... War-torn.

 _A war-torn man. That's what all this is. A war, and I got caught in it,_ you lamented numbly, struck by some new sort of fear at seeing his woeful semblance. How irreparable he seemed, and how he probably felt there would never be redemption for himself and everyone he's lost, and how there would never be-

"Hey," the boy butted back in, noticing you lost his attention, rudely snapping in front of your face to get it back. "Are you okay? I mean... Have you done something wrong? Where are we headed?"

You simply looked at him and shook your head tiredly. "I don't... know." You got into a coughing fit, turned away from him, laid down on the floor, pulled the blanket around you like the safe arms of your dead father, and fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's a bonus song if you want it, that I almost used instead. Definitely has very Far Cry 5 vibes in the video though: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DKZ2PLTPYP8
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the chapter! Let me know what you think! :^)


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